Free Tough Love by Nancy Holder Page A

began.
    But Earl was gone.
    CHAPTER          SEVEN
    “"If we’'re so smart, why aren’'t we solvent?”" Rhetta asked Ronnie as they sat across from each other at the kitchen table. Now that he’'d told her all of it—--that their savings were gone, and the farm was probably going to have to go, too—--Rhetta couldn’'t keep the cutting remarks from coming. She knew he felt terrible. He looked awful—--he’'d lost weight and dark rings circled his eyes. She wanted to feel sorry for him. But the farm hadn’'t been his to lose—--it had been in her family for over a hundred years. A hundred years.
    “"How many times can I say I’'m sorry?”" he demanded, his voice rising. “"I’'m sorry, I’'m sorry, I’'m sorry.”"
    He reached for her hand across the table and she forced herself not to bat it away. Anger welled inside her; she pursed her lips shut. She got up and poured herself another glass of wine from the nearly empty bottle beside the microwave. It was three in the morning and the kids were asleep. She and Ronnie seemed to be doing this weird thing where they waited for Todd and Mae to go to bed, and then they sniped at each other until either one of them had had enough or the sun started to come up. Rhetta hated it. Nevertheless, once the kids were down for the night, she met him in the kitchen, and they quarreled. Maybe wine was the wrong thing to drink at times like this.
    Maybe tequila would be better.
    Carrying her wine with her, she grabbed her jean jacket on the hook by the door. Slipped into her cowboy boots without any socks. Ronnie didn’'t say anything.
    She went outside. The wind had died down, which was nice, she supposed. Heading for the barn, she breathed in the cold, fresh air spiced with mud and cow manure. If they did have to sell, they were going to move into an apartment complex. She didn’'t think she could bear it. After the intensity of a day in the Crime Lab, wallowing in disgusting Dumpsters or collecting blood and fecal matter in trashed motel rooms, she needed the clean solitude of the country. Safe harbor. Retreat. A place where she could pretend the whole world was as nurturing as her farm.
    Fresh hay. The strong scent greeted her as she pushed open the door. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked over at Holy Cow, the animal Grace had liberated from Alvin Green, the richest cattleman in Oklahoma. Holy Cow was white with black markings that looked like the face of Jesus Christ on the Shroud of Turin. If they had to sell the farm, she’'d have to find a place for HC. Grace couldn’'t keep him in her suburban neighborhood.
    “"I’'m so sorry,”" she said to the cow as tears welled. Then she heard the soft lowing of their new calf. Mama and baby had been separated to reduce the possibility of infection, but they were next door to each other in two pens near the back of the barn. Rhetta drank down her wine as she lifted the latch and went inside. Speckles had finished her most recent feeding of colostrum and was resting.
    “"Poor little thing, poor thing,”" Rhetta said as the little calf gazed up at her with sleepy, limpid brown eyes. Mae had named it Speckles. Speckles’'s mama was Buttercup.
    The calf blatted, sounding almost like a sheep, and Rhetta began to cry. She laid her head against Speckles’'s neck as the tears flowed freely and sorrow poured out of her. How could they leave here, ever? How could they?
    She cried for a long time, half expecting Ronnie to come in to check on her. She was glad he didn’'t, but also disappointed. A chasm was building between them and she was too angry and sad to do anything about it except retreat a little farther every day, so that she wouldn’'t fall in.
    Speckles nudged her tentatively, lowing, and she wiped her eyes and gave the animal a gentle pat.
    “"We have to have faith,”" Rhetta told them.
    Right you are, Earl thought as he watched from the barn door. Holy Cow gazed at him; Earl winked in return. He’'d